


Suburban Frost

by AnxiousPeaches



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010), Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Snow, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 01:03:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17132087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxiousPeaches/pseuds/AnxiousPeaches
Summary: Quentin discovers how Michael celebrates Christmas and is even surprised with a handmade gift.Just a bit of Christmas fluff. Happy holidays, everyone.





	Suburban Frost

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Мороз в пригороде / Suburban Frost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20028022) by [Амелия Шмелия (AmyAndAmnesia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyAndAmnesia/pseuds/%D0%90%D0%BC%D0%B5%D0%BB%D0%B8%D1%8F%20%D0%A8%D0%BC%D0%B5%D0%BB%D0%B8%D1%8F)



The park was covered in a thick blanket of white. Green hedges peaked out under snowy caps. Footsteps and bird claw prints crisscrossed each other around paths within a playground set. Beyond the lone suburban street of Haddonfield, denuded trees and solemn pines provided shadows of cover for us to hide.

My breath paled against the frosty air. I blinked away the dryness in my eyes as the numbing wind kissed against my face. The others had made their disdain for the new weather clear, but I couldn’t help but disagree. I loved snow, more so when it was falling. The sound of thousands of flakes hitting the ground brought an icy peace over the world.

For once, I wasn’t visiting Haddonfield for a trial. I didn’t have to worry about generators or the pained screams of my friends. I shivered at the thought of the previous trial in the old ski lodge. By the end, blood stained those sheets of white all over the ground.

No, this time I’d been given a gift to see someone special. The fog deposited me in Haddonfield and now I got to see blankets of untouched snow across the concrete street. I paused for a second, not wanting to ruin the beautiful view with my unsightly footprints. Then I saw him watching me on the porch of his home, and all those thoughts flittered away with the wind.

His navy jumper was a stark contrast with the wintery scene, though the white latex mask matched perfectly. A long time ago, I would have been terrified. _Oh, how things have changed..._ I couldn’t help my smile when I saw him, and I wondered if he smiled underneath that mask as well. I skipped over to him with excitement, happy that I could finally spend time with him in a context other than being murdered. It felt like it had been forever since we got to spend time one on one. We never got the opportunity unless he did very well in recent trials. I tried not to think about how the misery of me and my friends was the only thing letting us see each other. 

“Michael,” I greeted, breathless from all the skipping and cold air. He didn’t say anything -- a fact I’d long since grown used too -- but he did affectionately place a hand against my cheek. The black leather gloves felt warm against my now flushed skin. _Those are new._ “Looks like you got your Christmas present early.”

He tilted his head to the side as if confused. He pointed a finger at my chest.

“Me? I’m the present?” I asked, blushing from more than just the cold.

He nodded before grabbing my hand and pulling me inside the house. He shut the door behind us, not that it would do any good at keeping the cold out. Even though this wasn’t the same area that the Haddonfield trials took place -- I could tell because of the existence of doors and lack of generators everywhere -- the quality of the house wasn’t much better. The walls of the building were worn and thin. The windows were boarded up by wooden planks Michael had collected from broken pallets.

He’d done his best to make it homey, despite it all. In the living room, a little fire crackled in his fireplace. He’d pushed the couch closer to it, probably because it was the only warm spot in the house. Wool blankets were draped over the back cushions, wrinkled from previous use.

Most shocking of all, he set up a tree… thing. Well, it was more of a bush he’d cut out of the ground, but I gave him an A for effort. There were no decorations, but I did spy a box of trinkets in the corner of the room. I also didn’t miss the small paper parcel sitting underneath the prickly branches.

Standing in the archway, he was quiet as a shadow. He watched me take it in, his emotions hidden behind the mask. The wind howled outside, picking up from a storm completely manufactured by whatever controlled. I could barely hear his quiet, muffled breaths.

“I see you’ve been busy,” I mused, touching the little Christmas tree. “I didn’t take you to be the festive type.”

He shrugged. There were many times I wished that he could talk. _What were his Christmases like before all this? Did his family make a big deal? Does he even remember?_ There were so many tiny details I wanted to know. Things that my mind shouldn’t have got hung up on, but did anyway. Instead, all I got was his shrug.

Communicating with Michael was a lot harder than it should be. I assumed he didn't know how to write, or at least not very well. Laurie told me he'd spent most of his life in an asylum, and I doubted that got him much of an education. Finding a paper and a pen was nearly impossible anyway, so I didn't have the chance to test it out. It frustrated me, but not enough to keep me away. After all, I’d figured out a long time ago that Michael didn’t choose to be quiet. He simply couldn’t talk.

“Are these the decorations?” I asked, pointing to the box. He sort of waved his hand, dismissing them. I looked inside to see old metal nuts and bolts, bits of broken glass, and rope. The kind of stuff you’d expect a serial killer to put on their tree. _Maybe that’s why he didn’t decorate._

“Who needs decorations anyway,” I said, trying to be bright.

He snorted underneath the mask. He grabbed the little parcel and pulled me onto the couch, wrapping his arms around me. His head settled on my shoulder as he pushed the paper into my hand. Whatever it was, it was small. From the flexible feeling of it, I guessed the gift inside was paper too.

“I didn’t get you anything,” I said meekly, my face falling. Of course, finding anything of value out in the trials was nearly impossible. Chests rarely contained anything other than toolbox, medkits, or flashlights. We’d been finding a lot of fireworks lately, but I knew Michael hated those. Loud noises made him uneasy.

He poked my chest again. _You’re the gift._ I opened my mouth to protest, but he huffed with impatience. I could only guess he was nervous for me to open this present.

I didn’t rip the paper open as I might have once before. Paper, after all, was scarce. Also, I didn’t want to accidentally rip his gift. I felt like one of those old ladies that always tried to save wrapping paper as if it were some kind of a rarity. My own grandmother did that to me all the time, saving scraps of it for her scrapbook pages. I wondered if Michael’s grandmother ever tried to save wrapping paper. _Did she have a scrapbook dedicated to her grandson? Was it destroyed after he became what he is now?_ He’d never given much of an indication what his family was like.

I pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it. Deep black ink stretched across the page in crudely drawn letters. Several words were scratched out, either because they were unreadable or horribly misspelled.

_Quentin,_

_You make me feel when I feel nothing. When you breathe in, I breathe out. When I see you, I never want to leave your side. Every moment with you feels right when everything else feels so wrong. I love you. I love you. And finally, one last time: I love you._

_Yours,_

_Michael_

I wiped away the wetness under my eyes. No matter how gorgeous the snow outside was, it would never compare to how beautiful I found those scratchy words.

“I love you too,” I smiled, pressing my forehead to his. “How did you even…” My words trailed off. _Had he studied books in the institute to figure out how to write all this?_ Maybe he was simply more capable of writing than I thought. He nuzzled me, breaking me out of the thought. In the end, it didn’t matter. He was mine, I was his, and nothing would change that.

Snow piled up in drifts outside. Ice-white dust swirled outside while I snuggled deeper into his arms. Wordless kisses were exchanged as I lulled to sleep, safely in his embrace.


End file.
